


young hearts on the chase

by daffodilsforlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha Louis Tomlinson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, But also, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Louis Tomlinson, Omega Harry, Pining Harry, courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daffodilsforlou/pseuds/daffodilsforlou
Summary: Before he can question him any further, Harry’s holding out a drink to him, ‘Louis’ written on the side of it with messy, pink letters. Warmth spreads all throughout Louis’ body when he takes it, starting from the tip of his fingers where they brush Harry’s to curl around the cup and settling in his chest.“I also got us– um,” the omega starts, nervous fingers fumbling to get the paper bag open. “Got you an egg muffin. Or– or a normal muffin if you don’t like egg ones.”“Who doesn’t like egg muffins?”The smile that breaks across Harry’s face in response is as bright as the one yesterday. Louis almost expects it to be kissed into his cheek as well. It looks like Harry’s considering it for a moment, too, dreamy gaze gliding all over Louis’ expectant face. He seems to decide against it with a sigh though, and Louis’ not disappointed when they start walking side by side instead (he’s not).harry’s a hopeless romantic, louis’ oblivious, and it’s going to be Valentine’s Day.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 150





	young hearts on the chase

**Author's Note:**

  * For [larryatendoftheday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larryatendoftheday/gifts).



> Happy Belated Valentine's Day!
> 
> This fic is part of [Secret Larry Valentine Exchange](https://secretlarryvalentine.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you so much to [thedevilinmybrain](https://thedevilinmybrain.tumblr.com/) for putting this whole thing together and for rambling with me about our fic ideas, you're fucking dope, Jenn, and I love you! Also, a massive thank you to [hershelsue](https://hershelsue.tumblr.com/) , this fic would've not happened without you and your kindness! 
> 
> I hope you like it [larryatendoftheday](https://larryatendoftheday.tumblr.com/)!!

“Hi, Louis,” a low, saccharine voice interrupts his thoughts, cigarette in his left hand stopping short of touching his mouth. 

The sun hits his face as he lifts up his gaze to look for the owner, and he has to use his hand to shield himself, a bit of cigarette ash falling to the floor. There’s a boy bathed in sunlight in front of him, and he doesn’t look bothered by it the way Louis is.

“Hey,” Louis says.

The boy’s cheekbones are dusted with a delicate pink. Louis wants to blame the unforgiving February weather for it, but the boy’s white teeth bashfully biting into the plushness of his bottom lip make Louis think maybe he’s got more to do with it, and his stomach unreasonably flutters. Under the shadow of his hand he meets the boy's gaze, and for a glorious –albeit too short– five seconds, Louis’ breath leaves his lungs at the sight of the emerald green that looks back, though long dark lashes hide it when the boy looks down almost immediately.

Louis wracks his brain for a name but comes up empty handed, he doesn’t think they’ve ever met before. 

“So, uhm–,” the boy hesitates, all traces of his earlier confidence gone from his tone. His fingers start fidgeting with one another where they rest against his upper thighs, and it is only then that Louis notices he’s carrying a plastic container; bubblegum pink, like the color of his lips (and his nails, he notes), and if he squints a little he can almost convince himself it is shaped like a heart. He wants to ask about it, but then the boy is stepping closer to stand under the shadow and Louis’ nose is flaring without his permission, getting a whiff of his poorly concealed scent. 

Underneath the faint smell of rosemary that undoubtedly belongs to some type of scent neutralizers, Louis can clearly pick up tinges of fresh strawberries and cinnamon. It shouldn’t work, the peculiar combination of fresh and sugary smells clashing with the sturdy mint-like of the rosemary, but it _does_ , somehow, and he suddenly finds it difficult to think of anything else. He can feel heat blooming across his cheeks, and has only half a mind to chastise his wolf for being this easily flustered. It only gets worse when he lets his gaze rake over the boy’s– the _omega’s_ body unashamedly, cataloguing every quirk he encounters– the way the boy’s standing with his toes pointing inward, his delicate ankles clad in fuzzy purple socks beneath the hem of his flared pants, the way his thighs fill the pants quite nicely. There’s a pearl necklace around his neck, over his knitted white sweater, and his short curls look made out of silk. 

The omega’s searching gaze startles him into a straight position, and it takes him a little while to register he was just asked a question. “What?”

Gently, (with rosier cheeks), the boy repeats, “What do you think of the new uniforms for the football team?” 

Louis doesn’t hesitate as he blurts, “They’re shit.” 

They’re not shit, not really, they did the best they could with the limited options and low budget they were given, Louis knows this, and it shouldn’t really matter what he thinks anyway, since he’s not part of the team or even friends with any of them (nor he wants to, if you ask him), and he can clearly recognize this as the omega trying to make casual conversation. But Louis is nothing if not an alpha of strong beliefs. Whether it be about the way the current headmaster is running things or pineapple on pizza, he most likely already has an opinion, and a strong one (and the _right one_ ) at that. 

The last thing he expects is the sound the omega’s pink lips puff out in his next breath, something like an offended scoff that could almost be confused with the scruff of a shoe against the pavement. Almost; if not for the fact that it is closer to a whine than anything else. 

“Are you kidding me?” Louis laughs, joy wrinkling the corner of his eyes and hand coming down to his waist. “Who the hell thought yellow would be a good colour?”

“I like them,” the omega says affronted, his neatly groomed brows scrunching up in a frown and his nose wrinkling. Louis keeps laughing at him until he hears, “They look like daisies.”

“What?” he screeches, voice louder than he means to. “I don’t think that’s the look they were going for, mate.” 

Although the comparison is not far fetched, _per se,_ daisies are probably the last thing Louis would think about in relation to the white shorts and yellow shirts that are the football uniforms. The omega’s features smooth into a pondering expression, averting his eyes to the wall next to Louis’ shoulder. _Who the hell are you?_ Louis finds himself wondering. But in place of the annoyance he’d undoubtedly feel with anybody else who dared interrupt him mid smoke, his stomach is bubbling in delight as he eagerly awaits for the boy’s next words. 

“Well, I like it,” he concludes shrugging one shoulder. Louis huffs out a single laugh. 

Their casual conversation (if it can even be called that, Louis’ still not sure what this boy’s doing here talking to him) gets cut short when they hear someone yelling _“Harry!”_

Both their heads turn abruptly at the interruption, and Louis finds a blond guy waving a hand at them. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees curly waving back.

“Right,” Harry says ( _Harry!_ Louis marvels). “Uhm- I have to go,” he points a thumb in the direction of the guy. He hesitates for a second before turning around, and then his eyes widen as he hastily says, “ _Oh!_ These are for you!” 

The heart-shaped container gets shoved into Louis’ hands, and then Harry’s gone.

The cigarette stings Louis’ thumb suddenly, and it’s then he realizes he’s let it burn out in favour of staring at the boy half-walk half-skip his way to his blond friend. He keeps looking to the container and to where the omega has long disappeared to. _Weird,_ he thinks, as he opens the obnoxiously coloured thing after tossing the butt of his cigarette to the ground. He smiles to himself. 

_Cookies._

*

_Hi, Louis. I hope you like them <3 _

The little piece of paper Louis found at the bottom of the pink container is nestled in the front pocket of his jeans as he walks down the hall two days later, looking for the omega- _Harry_ his brain keeps supplying. 

The cookies sat at his bedside table for about two hours after he got home, before he caved and tried one; baked golden, the soft, gooey pastry melted on his tongue like butter, big shards of chocolate sticking to his back teeth sweetly (if asked, he’d deny the moans that left his mouth after every bite). He counted fourteen of them, and decided to hide them from his flatmates under his bed to make them last. This morning, he woke up to the crime scene of his midnight cravings, crumbles sticking to his bedsheets and the corners of his mouth, the warm fuzzy feeling in his belly just a bittersweet memory. So much for making them last. 

He finds Harry in the library, sitting with a group of people that look like what can only be described as the result of a terrible encounter with a milkshake. Between pastel colours and fluffy clothes, he fits, Louis thinks, mesmerised. All eyes are trained on him, listening intently to the story he’s apparently telling, leaning forward with his elbows pressed to the table, chin resting on his hands and one foot tucked beneath his pert bum. _Cute._ Louis tries not to stare too much. 

“Hey! It’s Lewis!” 

It’s a girl who spots him first. Louis doesn’t know which one, too distracted watching Harry’s curls bounce when he turns his head to look at him. Mirroring Harry’s, Louis’ lips stretch into a smile. 

“Hi, Lewis,” someone else says, forcing him to break their staring contest. It’s the same blond guy that made Harry leave him too soon two days ago, Louis realises. 

“Oh, it’s actually-,” he starts, only to be interrupted by Harry’s matter-of-factly tone. 

“It’s _Louis_.” The name rolls off his tongue sweetly, sounding a tad too french for Louis’ liking. Though it somehow wills his smile wider, especially with how offended Harry looks on his behalf. 

“Right.” Blond guy rolls his eyes. He shrugs his shoulders and goes back to paying attention to the group’s conversation once Harry sends him a pointed look Louis thinks he wasn’t supposed to see, Harry’s cheeks tainted crimson when they lock eyes again and he notices Louis’ already looking at him. 

“Hi,” he says. Louis almost asks him to say his name again. 

“I’ve come to return this,” he announces instead, lifting up the empty pink bowl. 

Harry’s cheeks colour again, but this time Louis doesn’t know why. “Oh, you can keep it,” Harry answers. And then, meekly, “if you want.”

 _Why on earth would I want a heart-shaped pink container for?_ “Alright. Thanks.”

For the second time in two days, their conversation is cut short by someone calling Harry’s name. And although he doesn’t blame them for wanting Harry’s attention (it’d be hypocritical of him, having come here looking for the same thing, guised as the good deed of returning his utensil), an unexpected zing of annoyance courses through Louis' spine, making his belly curl unpleasantly. He doesn’t want to just yet, but at the same time he can’t seem to find an excuse to keep talking to Harry, so he does anyway, waves an awkward hand goodbye and turns around to leave.

Leaving the low, comfortable hum of the library behind when he steps into the hallway again, Louis realises there’s footsteps following him. Clumsy, hurried footsteps accompanied by the sweet smell of omega. Louis can’t help the smile that blooms across his features, nor the big breath he takes of Harry’s fresh scent that leaves him a little dizzy. 

He acts surprised to see him when Harry falls into step beside him, curving his brows upwards. 

“I’ll walk you to class,” Harry says, as if he needs an excuse to be around Louis. As if Louis wasn’t looking for one himself just seconds ago just to stay longer with him.

“It’s all the way across campus,” he still explains somewhat stupidly. 

“Okay.”

With a pleased smile he tries to bite down, Louis guides them through campus while Harry starts to talk his ear off. Slowly and without hurry, he starts telling a story and ends up with another, and another and then another, threading thought out words together to get his point across. And in the sparse moments Louis’ not endeared by Harry’s dainty hands flapping about in the air to illustrate his words, he’s made aware of how close to each other they are walking– their arms brushing one another, their hands bumping; Louis’ pinky flexing in spite of himself with the need to tangle his fingers with Harry’s. He absently wonders what they must look like to the people in the hallway, if they think Harry, with his pale purple trousers and pink shoe laces, blends in nicely with the Valentine’s Day decoration hanging from the walls, or if, because of the contrast between Harry’s gentle steps and Louis’ alpha stance, they look like two pieces from completely different puzzles. He’d like to think they’re not, and is not surprised at the desire of finding out suddenly bubbling low on his tummy. 

“So, did you like them?” 

They’ve come to a stop in front of Louis’ classroom just as Harry’s soft voice brings him back from his daydreaming. His cheeks colour at the realization that this is the second time he’s lost himself in thoughts of the omega, and leaning his weight back on the wall he tries to look as unsuspicious as he can when he has to ask, “What?”

“The cookies,” Harry explains, “did you like them?”

With their taste still clinging to his tongue, Louis can only nod. “Yeah.”

Harry’s answering smile gets pressed into his sun-kissed skin when he leans in to kiss Louis’ cheek, painting them to match Harry’s rosy cheeks.

(And later, in class, Louis rests his face against his palm and tells himself it is because he’s bored. He knows, though, that the moist he feels underneath his fingertips is Harry’s lip gloss.)

*

Harry’s standing outside of his classroom the next day too. 

Louis’ walking amidst the horde of eager students trying to get out of the lecture all at once, struggling with his jean jacket when he sees him; standing prettily across the hallway with his bag hanging lazly from one shoulder, dressed in a fluffy light blue jumper and holding a tray with two cups in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. His cow-like eyes flit from one person to another, until they fall upon Louis and his bitten bottom lip stretches into a timid smile that Louis returns just as shy. 

Having gotten one arm through one of the arm holes successfully while his free hand still fumbles for the other end of the jacket, he approaches him with uncertain steps, wondering (hoping) if it is him the reason he’s here. 

“I think you got the back twisted,” it’s the first thing Harry says, amusedly, awkwardly lifting up the hand with the paper bag to gesture behind his own back. 

“Wha–.” Louis brings a blind hand to his back, expecting to feel the roughness of the jean jacket, but– “ _Fuck._ ” 

He’s managed to make a real mess of the simple task by tangling the fabric on his back, feeling with his hand the way it almost resembles a bow. He puts his bag down and takes the jacket off to put it on _right_ , all while Harry’s stifling giggles with the back of his hand. 

“It’s not that funny,” Louis murmurs, mostly because he can feel his face heating up. He’s not too bothered though, the sight of the corner of Harry’s eyes crinkling is a pretty sight. 

“What's that?” he questions once he’s righted his clothes, slipping his bag straps on his shoulders again and pointing with his chin to Harry’s hand holding the cups. 

“Oh.” Harry’s cheeks blush, all laughter gone from his tone. “Tea.”

Before he can question him any further, Harry’s holding out a drink to him, _‘Louis’_ written on the side of it with messy, pink letters. Warmth spreads all throughout Louis’ body when he takes it, starting from the tip of his fingers where they brush Harry’s to curl around the cup and settling in his chest. 

“I also got us– um,” the omega starts, nervous fingers fumbling to get the paper bag open. “Got _you_ an egg muffin. Or– or a normal muffin if you don’t like egg ones.” 

“Who doesn’t like egg muffins?”

The smile that breaks across Harry’s face in response is as bright as the one yesterday. Louis almost expects it to be kissed into his cheek as well. It looks like Harry’s considering it for a moment, too, dreamy gaze gliding all over Louis’ expectant face. He seems to decide against it with a sigh though, and Louis’ not disappointed when they start walking side by side instead ( _he’s not_ ). 

Eventually, their easy steps take them to the cafeteria without them noticing. It isn’t as crowded as it normally is, probably because today is the first sunny day of the month and people are enjoying it, so it’s not hard to find an empty table where they can sit to eat their breakfast and sip their tea. 

It’s easy, being with Harry, Louis soon finds out. 

He got a taste of it yesterday when Harry, oh so gentlemanly walked him to class, but now he can see that he’s witty and smart and gently put, too. It’s not hard to make him laugh, and blush and pout, one time, when Louis makes fun of the baby chick hatching their egg on his sweater. His eyebrows go high before he makes a clever remark and he laughs a little too loud at his own bad jokes, a pair of dimples indenting his perpetually rosy cheeks. And even though most of the time his stories turn out to be pointless, Louis really, really likes listening to what he has to say. 

They get lost in their tentative, shy words about classes, and music, and favourite movie and worst meals they’ve ever had. Harry gets up at one point to throw their trash out and is mindful enough to put it in the recycling bin, and when he comes back he sits closer, bumping their thighs together, setting Louis’ skin ablaze under the fabric of his trousers.

His mind swirling with the dizzying, constant smell of strawberries and cinnamon, Louis doesn’t know how much time it’s been when Harry’s phone pings, effectively breaking them from their reverie. 

“Oh!” he exhales, maybe surprised by how much time has passed. “I have to go,” he says hurriedly, gathering his discarded bag and getting up. Apparently there’s a class he needs to get to (because he’s responsible too) and Louis tries not to act as dejected as he feels whilst they get up to leave. 

Louis just hopes this becomes a thing for them. 

*

It becomes a thing. 

Soon, Louis finds himself only wanting to go to class because he knows he’ll get to see Harry afterwards, standing with his back pressed against the wall waiting for him just like the first time. 

He doesn’t always bring tea and pastries, though they do start to spend all their spare time between or after classes together. 

There’s coffee and a packet of gum the day after they chat well into the afternoon on the bleachers and Louis complains about cigarette breath, more because he’s worried about it bothering Harry with how close their faces are to each other than because it actually bothers _him._ A pair of fuzzy socks to clad his constantly bare ankles with that he tries on almost immediately, kicking his shoes off in the middle of their “study session” in the library because his desire to match Harry is greater than his regard for others, apparently. There's a plastic shroom keychain Harry buys him in a thrift store, at which Louis cracks up a joke about being a _fungi_ just because he knows it’ll get his favourite kind of laugh out of Harry (loud, and unashamed, the kind that has his dimples denting his cheeks even after he’s stopped) _._ Sometimes they’ll come with a compliment, like “ _You look good today”_ or _“I really like your eyes'',_ and they're always handed with a bashful smile and hopeful eyes. 

Today, it’s a warm scarf for Louis to wrap around his neck and a pink umbrella for the both of them to walk under, since it’s raining. 

“Mm, I think I may have miscalculated how big this thing is,” Harry drawls out slowly, looking from the pouring rain outside the building to his open umbrella pointing sadly to the floor.

(Louis was surprised to see the omega standing outside of his classroom today. 

It started raining in the middle of his lecture, the raindrops hitting the street outside making for a good background sound to the dull voice of his professor going on and on about E. E. Cummings and his poems, almost distracting him from the fact that his– _the_ omega wouldn’t come today. 

Since it was late, anyway, the sky painted in purple and orange hues behind the dark raining clouds already, he didn’t even look for him like he normally did, and it wasn’t until the crowd of students somewhat cleared that he saw him.

“Can I walk you to your flat?” Harry greeted him with. 

“Harry, it’s raining.”

“I know.”)

“Well, a little rain never hurt anybody,” Louis tries. ‘A little rain’ is maybe not the best way to describe the downpour from the dark clouds completely hiding the evening sun; he even has to raise his voice a little to make sure Harry hears him over the sound of it harshly hitting the floor, and the way Harry turns around to level him with an unimpressed frown tells him he’s a fool for even trying. 

“Oh c’mon, mate,” the alpha starts, “We can’t let _a little rain_ beat us,” he gestures outside. There’s people using (kind of pointlessly) their backpacks and hoodies and someone even a book to shield themselves from the rain, their clothes, of course, dripping wet. Sending a questioning look at the tiny pink umbrella Harry brought with him, Louis’ not really sure they’ll be any better off.

But. He likes to think of himself as a strong-willed alpha, so. 

“Let's go,” he says, grabbing the umbrella by the shaft and starting to walk towards the exit.

“ _Wait, no._ ” Harry’s clumsy, hurried steps come after him. “I’m supposed to hold it,” he explains unreasonably, hands reaching out for it.

Louis huffs out a laugh as he hands it over, “Alright.”

Without waiting any longer, they get under the shade after Harry lifts it up above their heads, soon realising just how close they’ll have to walk to be able to fit underneath (although, not close _enough_ , but then again, it didn’t take Louis long to realise that it is never enough _anything_ when it comes to Harry, not to him and his pining heart, at least). Every single concern they had about the tiny thing not being able to protect them from the rain gets proved right as soon as they step past the threshold of the hallway. Restlessly, heavy drops of water hit the side of Louis’ head that’s been left uncovered, plasting his fringe to his forehead and efficiently wetting his whole left side. Harry’s not really doing any better, either, fat blobs of water darkening the fabric of his hoodie, rolling down from his shoulder to collect at his closed palm. 

“I think we should go back,” Harry suggests, even as they keep walking away. 

“No, let me– just.”

He doesn’t think, he _can’t_. Not with the way Harry sounds so bummed out, words hesitantly breaking through his already chattering teeth and his wolf telling him to fix it. He just brings his arm up to curl around Harry’s torso and pulls him closer, settling his hand snugly against the hidden curve of his waist. It elicits a surprised “oof” out of Harry, and the blush on his cheeks subtly darkens. 

“Better?” he asks teasingly. 

Like this, the rain doesn’t get to them as much, and with only one or two (or three, all Harry’s) tripping incidents, they make it to Louis’ flat almost unscathed.

Except. 

Except Harry’s whole entire body is shivering from the cold of his drenched clothes, and what started as an endearing sight of really crimson lips, has become a real concern now that they’re almost nearing blue. No longer needing the umbrella as they stand under the low ceiling of the entrance, Louis lets go of Harry’s waist a little reluctantly, immediately regretting it when the boy’s body shudders at the loss of warmth. 

“You wanna come up?” Louis blurts out before he can think better of it. 

Wide, green eyes are the only response he gets back, and they make him realise the possible meaning to his question. 

“You’re gonna get sick,” he explains hurriedly, words tripping over each other, gesturing bashfully to Harry’s arms wrapped around himself not doing anything to help the way he’s still trembling. 

“No, I’m not,” Harry gets out with chattering teeth. Yet, he still smiles at Louis with berry lips and nods a second later. 

Harry wants to leave his umbrella outside, claiming Louis’ floor is already getting dirty as it is, with their clothes soaking wet and shoes mudied, but after Louis tells him that’s just asking for it to be stolen, he hurriedly lifts it up again from where he had already settled it on the floor and hugs it. Louis just rolls his eyes, endeared.

Louis’ flat is really small, just a tiny living room with a tv and fluffy couches that spill into the kitchen, one blue-tiled bathroom and two bedrooms.

“Cozy,” Harry murmurs from behind him.

“Right. Wait here.” 

Dripping clothes leaving a trail behind him, Louis goes into his bedroom and quickly changes into some dry clothes. He grabs some for Harry too; his favourite balck hoodie, the same grey trackies he always wears and the pair of purple fuzzy socks Harry gave him (and it isn’t because he’s hoping Harry’s scent will linger and envelop him the next time he wears them, _it is not_ ), before he walks back into the living room to find Harry exactly where he left him, standing pigeon-toed beside the door with his arms cutely wrapped around himself, withe teeth biting down on his plump bottom lip as his eyes dance all around the compact flat. Louis stares at him unabashedly, just like every time Harry loses himself in a story, or is really concentrated on what he’s reading to notice. 

And, like every time, a smile blossoms with bright eyes across his features when his gaze finally falls upon Louis’. 

“I got you some dry clothes,” Louis explains, ignoring his stuttering heart. “You can change in the bathroom.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, a shade of pink settling on his cheeks. He takes the clothes with slightly trembling fingers and, after making sure of the direction of said bathroom, walks to it, closing the door with a soft click. 

Instead of letting the fact that Harry’s changing just a few meters away from him affect him, Louis decides that just a change of clothes won’t do to prevent the omega from getting sick, so he makes his way into the kitchen with sure steps and pries his fridge open. 

He’s whisking cocoa powder and sugar in a pot with boiling milk when Harry comes out of the bathroom. Louis has only half a second to relish in the way Harry fits in his clothes before the boy is hopping on the counter. 

“What’ya making?”

Just like on Louis, the hoodie looks a bit too big for him. The fabric pools around him where he’s sat at the counter, the hem going over the waistband of the trackies and hiding the bow he must’ve made with its laces to keep it tight around his waist, and the sleeves curl around Harry’s hands, making for the cutest sweater paws Louis’ ever seen. He’s also put the fuzzy socks over the trackies and his wiggling his toes. Fondness pours out of Louis' eyes and clings to his eyelashes. 

“Hot chocolate,” he answers at last. 

“ _Yummy!_ ”

After having put their wet clothes in the drier, they cozy up in the living room and talk under the low hum it makes over warm cups of hot chocolate. Guilty pleasure songs, favourite childhood memory, silliest thing they’ve ever worn (for Harry a yellow frog hat, suspenders for Louis), favourite celebrity drama. “I let my carpet get dirty because I like the noise the vacuum makes when it sucks everything up” and “I got second in a poetry reading competition in Primary School I didn’t even prepare for”. They play would you rather and Harry gets closer to Louis the more ridiculous his questions get, until their thighs are touching and Harry’s red all over from so much laughing. 

They end up playing Mario Kart a while later. Not because they run out of things to say, but because Louis is afraid of kissing the boy. 

Ever since he saw him for the first time, the thought has been on his mind. What it would be like to press against Harry’s pillowed lips, if he’d be able to feel their softness with his tongue or measure their plushness with his teeth. If Harry would gasp at the surprise, or melt into it with a sigh, mint breath crowding Louis’ mouth. Maybe his scent would even get sweeter. 

The problem is, he doesn’t want to act on it. At least not yet. In a matter of days, this friendship between them has already become so important to him, and he’s afraid of ruining that, of losing Harry. (Harry, who just happens to be the best, prettiest, most interesting omega he’s met, and really, he’s known since the first time Harry walked him to class that he never stood a chance.)

So he turned on the tv and handed Harry a controller, trying to ignore just how cute Harry looked with his knees drawn to his chest and his competitive (as he called it, with his white teeth biting down on his bottom lip and determination painted on the space between his furrowed brows) face on. 

At some point during their third match, it stops raining. The sky is already dark, clear like it can only be after a good rain, with the full moon unobstructed and shining bright at Louis when he looks outside his window. Harry notices too, and he must think Louis’ tired or something because he says, 

“I should go,” putting the controller down and collecting his cup. 

“What? No,” Louis says hurriedly, standing up to follow him into the kitchen, his own cup cradled in his hands. “It's late.”

Harry’s already washing his cup in the sink when Louis comes to stand next to him, pressing a hip against the counter. He turns around to grab Louis’ before saying, “Not really.”

Louis only huffs. He waits until Harry’s finished putting the cups on the rack so he’s sure he sees him roll his eyes. Harry rolls his right back. 

Slowly, Harry turns around to mirror Louis. “Why do you want me to stay?” he murmurs, smiling like challenge. 

_Please,_ Louis want to say. _Please stay. We can cuddle on the couch or I can braid your hair. And if you’re tired I’d even let you sleep on my bed._

He can’t bring himself to say any of that, though. He looks at Harry and tries to find the courage in the intensity of the pool of green that stares back, in the tinges of gold around his irises. He doesn’t. There’s something akin to fear (of losing this thing, this important, new shiny thing they just got into) clawing at his neck and stealing his voice. 

“It’s late,” it’s what he ends up saying, rather lamely. 

Harry drops his gaze to the floor, but he’s still smiling, so Louis doesn’t count it as a loss, at least. “I can take care of my own, you know,” the omega says when he looks back at Louis, already back at teasing. 

Louis can only nod. 

(Harry leaves with a wave goodbye and no apparent intention of giving Louis’ clothes back, even as he has his own, dry and ready to wear, all bundled up in his arms. Louis doesn’t ask him for them either.)

*

As it is the norm, the newest record added to the store’s catalogue plays through the speakers softly. Music dances all around the room, only interrupted by the little bell above the door every time someone new comes in or someone goes out. 

The sun is shining in through the window, hitting Louis’ back as he works the till. 

Or, it was, just a few minutes ago, before Harry complained with squinted eyes about it hitting his face and they moved places. 

“ _Lou!_ ” Harry complains for what must be the hundredth time, prolonging the word into a whine. 

“What?” Louis asks in faux innocence. 

The omega levels him with a disgruntled look. “Stop,” he pouts. 

They’re sitting near the classic music section, where not a lot of people wander in and they’re far enough the sun doesn’t hit them but where Louis can still see if anyone’s at the front counter. Harry’s brought a bag of rainbow coloured, heart-shaped candy with him, walking through the record store’s glass door with his pretty head of curls wrapped around a headscarf about and hour ago, and Louis’ been taking every piece he’s about to grab just seconds before he can for the past fifteen minutes. (“ _Sharing is caring_ ,” Louis had said, right before he plopped the stolen candy on his tongue.)

Louis bursts out laughing when, this time, instead of jutting his bottom lip out in a childish pout, Harry slaps his hand away. “That’s enough, Tomlinson,” he warns with finality. 

“I can read palms, you know,” Harry says a while later. 

Louis huffs, “That’s not a thing.”

“Oh, but it is,” he argues, brows going high with mirth. “Here.” He grabs Louis’ left hand with sticky fingers and turns it over, palm up. “This, right here,” he starts, voice gentle as he traces a soft fingertip over the line that begins at the base of Louis’ palm and grows up, towards his fingers, “It’s called the fate line. See how it is straight and not curved?” 

Lost in the light movements of Harry’s finger up and down over the line, Louis doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

“That means you’re determined,” Harry explains kindly. “But also stubborn,” he continues teasingly, looking up quickly to see Louis laugh. “And then,” at this point, his voice gets delicate, and Louis has to lean in a little to be able to hear, “It points to your ring finger.”

“Yeah?” Louis prompts, something raw growing inside his chest. _Does that mean something? Should it mean something?_

Slowly, Harry looks up, only for Louis to realise just how much he’s actually leaned in, almost standing in between Harry’s spread legs over the high stool. A short, breathless gasp leaves the boy’s cherry mouth, or maybe his own, Louis wouldn't know, too busy trying to sear the exact shade of emerald green of his eyes into his memory. 

“It means you have to stop eating my candy,” Harry murmurs quietly. 

Louis wants to kiss him. 

“You’re so full of shit,” he declares instead, forcing a bout of giggles out of his own mouth to hide the scowl it wants to curl into. 

The bell tingling at the front of the store distracts him from the way Harry casts his head down, silk curls framing his face. 

There’s a girl standing over the till, long fingernails tapping against the counter and about three records in her other hand. In a spur of the moment decision, he pecks Harry’s cheek lightly (just a press of soft lips against creamy skin is enough to send his whole body shivering) before turning around to approach the new client. 

She strikes easy conversations with him as he starts ringing her records up, and he can feel Harry’s eyes burning at the back of his head the entire time. 

*

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. 

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and Louis didn’t even remember, too caught up in Harry to care. (Save for the part where that is a lie; not remembering, that is. Being too caught up in Harry is exactly the reason why he _couldn’t_ not care.)

With his back pressed against the brick wall, all Zayn has to say after Louis’ finished stressing this exact struggle is, “Is that the omega who’s smell is all over our flat now?”

“ _Yes,_ ” he answers around the mouth of his cigarette, through the surge of irrational jealousy at Zayn having smelt his– _the_ omega. “Keep up.”

Zayn brings his own ciggie up to his mouth, a pondering expression on his face as he stares at Louis. “Right. The one that’s been courting you,” his best friend concludes. 

The amount of confidence the words are bathed in punches the air right out of Louis’ lungs, his hand stuttering on its way to his mouth. “ _What?_ ”

“He’s been courting you,” Zayn repeats with tranquility. 

Louis’ mind is swirling with smoke, “he likes you, he likes you, he likes you,” going in a loop inside his head, like a victory chant or a prayer. He can see Zayn’s smile turn teasing from the corner of his eyes, but he doesn’t turn around to confirm, he _can’t_. Too busy thinking back on every interaction he’s had with Harry and feeling his finger start to tingle with excitement (the light touches, and the baking, and looking at him from under his lashes) every hair standing on end at the shivers the memories rise over his body (the candy, and the loud laughs, walking so close they’re always touching).

“Like in the movies?” is the only thing that he can get out a few seconds later, mind still swimming through hazy thoughts. 

“You’ve got yourself an endless romantic,” Zayn snickers. “God, you really didn’t know? You’re an idiot! How long has- _hey! Where are you going?_ ” 

Louis doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking– almost bloody _skipping_ towards the exit. Nothing compares to the feeling of the words burning their way from the ever present pit of desire low on his belly through his body, clinging sweetly to his throat as he, _finally,_ can claim, “To _my omega!_ ”

*

The house is overflowing with red. Red hearts, red clothes, red balloons, red cups. The music loudly coming through the speakers and making the floor shake is even talking about red. 

Above all, there’s Harry, dancing across the room with glowing heart antlers nestled atop his curls and red flared trousers swirling as he twirls to the beat of the loud music. 

Louis’ got an arm around Oli, a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a bottle of beer in his hand as he watches him, devotion trickling out of his eyes and forming a puddle in the dip of his collarbones. 

(He didn’t get a chance to talk to, to _confront,_ Harry yesterday, but today he’s feeling extra giddy with the new found knowledge that the omega currently dancing along and belting out the lyrics to a song he doesn’t know the lyrics to wants to be _his_ , as much as Louis.)

However, the moment their gazes meet, Harry’s smile falls. He abruptly turns around and walks away, leaving his dancing friends behind.

At once, Louis swiftly drops the arm he had around Oli and starts shouldering his way through the crowded room, Harry’s pretty face burning in the back of his eyelids every time he blinks, trying not to lose sight of the tense expanse of his back. It helps that the heart antlers stand tall on his head, and the way his white shirt glows under the black lights of the room. 

He finally reaches him at the kitchen, people having stepped on his toes just once or twice, and his beer bottle still held in his hand. Unlike every other part of the house (Louis knows, he checked) the kitchen is not full. Just a group of three girls sniggering over the lip of their beer cans in a corner and Harry, refilling his red solo cup on the counter, facing away from Louis. He waits until the girls leave to approach Harry, and once they’re gone, giggling their way out of the door, he does with sure steps until they’re almost touching. He knows Harry feels him behind by the way his back relaxes. 

“Hey.” Unable to keep the happiness out of his tone, he doesn’t even wait for Harry to fully turn around to say, “You look really pretty today.”

“So I’ve been told,” Harry reveals. 

Something hot curls in Louis’ veins, despite the obviousness of Harry’s teasing. Who the hell else is telling _his_ omega he looks pretty? 

“You wanna go dance?” he inquires confidently. He remembers Harry admitting to loving dancing, even if some people say he’s not too good at it, and the jealousy bubbling in his veins is making him want to curl his body around Harry’s, to tuck his face in the curve of his neck and wrap his hands around his waist. 

The same look that shadowed Harry’s face just minutes ago in the middle of the made shift dance floor perches on his brows once more, dims his smile. He huffs out a single laugh, and it sounds ugly coming out of his mouth. “Don’t you have a pretty ginger you have to entertain?” 

Louis' left speechless at Harry’s blatant display of jealousy. If there happened to be any little flicker of doubt still in Louis’ mind, it completely washes away with the loud, joyus laugh he lets out in that moment. 

“Are you jealous?” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. Not an explanation, not a _‘You’re the only omega I want.’_ He steps closer and places his hands on the counter behind Harry, caging him in. “You’re jealous?” he asks again. 

Harry looks like a disgruntled kitten, incredulousness written in the straight line of his lips. Louis wants to laugh. “No,” the- _his_ omega says. 

In a moment of distraction, Harry barrels sideways and almost slips from in between Louis’ arms. The alpha won’t have it. With strong hands, he’s briskly grabbing him by the waist to yank him back before pressing him against the counter without force, Harry putty in his hands. 

Their faces are just inches away, Louis’ breath hitting Harry when he insists, “But you are, aren’t you?”

Harry cast his eyes down, brown curls framing his face. 

“Just,” Louis starts. He leans his head closer, closer still, until his breath hits Harry’s ear. “Just tell me.” 

Harry’s melting in his arms. 

Louis could feel every bit of hesitation ripple down his body like drops of melting ice rising shivers on their wake the moment he caged him in with his arms, and now it is just a puddle of blue apprehension surrounding their feet as Harry sags against him. Little puffs of breath hitting Louis’ neck is the only indication he has Harry’s finally looking his way, but he’s too immersed in the sight of Harry’s bare neck to verify it.

“Tell me you want to be _my omega_.” 

It’s the last push Harry needs. He releases his hands from where he had them clasped to the hem of Louis’ black shirt, tracing with loving fingers up until they are cradling Louis’ face, his soft fingertips against the stubble on his cheeks. It’s the giggling at the record store and the sun hitting them on their faces at the bleachers, it’s quiet words in Louis’ flat and sharing the same book at the library and every other little moment in between what leads to this; Harry opening his cherry mouth to breath, 

_“I want to be your omega.”_

And Louis catching the breathless words with eager lips as he leans in, and kisses him. _Finally._

The plushness of Harry’s bottom lip fits between Louis’ lips like it belongs. And they kiss as if they had been waiting to come home, even if they didn’t know where ( _who)_ home was yet, and now, with soft, liquor lips tangling with each other, they’re finally there. 

Harry wastes no time in tangling his hands in Louis’ long strands of hair to bring him closer, closer still, until his nose is pressed against Louis’ cheek as his lips work seamlessly against his. Harry kisses with purpose, with intention, but still slowly and just the right amount of sloppy. The moment Louis pries his lips open with a searching tongue, he moans, unashamedly, as though he’s already forgotten they’re in the middle of some dude’s kitchen and there’s still a party raging outside. Louis swallows it, grabbing for it with hope and keeping it close next to his heart. 

The scent that envelopes them makes Louis dizzy, strawberry and cinnamon dripping like burning honey through his back and tightening the hold he has on Harry’s hips.

They slow down to chaste pecks just a few minutes later. Louis’ forehead drops against Harry’s, knocking a breathless laugh out of them.

“You wanna get out of here?” 

(The walk to Louis’ flat is a blur. Just the remaining warmth of Harry’s palm against his own from their tangled fingers the single proof that it actually happened. And then, they’re standing inside, hovering over the closed door just like the first time. 

Only, this time, Louis’ not hesitant to grab Harry by the waist and bring him closer, kiss him with hungry lips and guide them to his bedroom with the taste of honey promising on his tongue.

The room swirls thickly with the mixture of their complimenting scents and a litany of _“Tell me again”_ and “ _More”_ and “ _Mine, mine, mine”)._

**Author's Note:**

> You can reblog the fic post [here](https://daffodilsforlou.tumblr.com/post/644406292453244928/young-hearts-on-the-chase-by-daffodilsforlou) and talk to me [here](https://daffodilsforlou.tumblr.com/) if you want!


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